Grave
by Sherlockian87
Summary: Molly recieves a note and goes to visit Sherlock's grave. Had this idea in my head for awhile but finally sat down and wrote it today. Didn't intend to post it, but decided I had to since it's Halloween and all ;)


**Happy Halloween!**

**Some angsty, comfort smutty Halloween goodness for you!**

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><p>Grave<p>

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><p>Molly stood at the grave of Sherlock Holmes, a sheet of paper clutched tightly in her hand. It had arrived in her mail earlier that afternoon. It wasn't written by hand, but typed, thus making it impossible for anyone but her to know who had sent it.<p>

A cold rush of wind blew across the graveyard, sending fallen leaves flying wildly about her. She brushed a few strands of hair away from her face, still holding firmly onto the sheet of paper. She sniffled, scrunching her nose up slightly. Then at last she looked down at the paper in her hand. It was time for her to read it.

With a shaky sigh she began, softly, slowly to speak it out loud:

_Do not stand at my grave and weep__  
><em>_I am not there. I do not sleep.__  
><em>_I am a thousand winds that blow.__  
><em>_I am the diamond glints on snow.__  
><em>_I am the sunlight on ripened grain.__  
><em>_I am the gentle autumn rain.__  
><em>_When you awaken in the morning's hush__  
><em>_I am the swift uplifting rush__  
><em>_Of quiet birds in circled flight.__  
><em>_I am the soft stars that shine at night.__  
><em>_Do not stand at my grave and cry;__  
><em>_I am not there. I did not die._

By the time she came to the end her tears were flowing freely. She wiped them away hurriedly, stuffing the paper into her coat pocket. With a final glance at his grave, she spun about and began to walk off. A dark figure appeared in her peripheral vision. She turned her head to look fully, hoping that her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. She looked at him, he looked at her. The wind picked up again, swirling around them both. They shared a nod, before she turned away from him and continued out of the graveyard and back towards her flat. By the time she arrived home he is there sitting on her sofa.

"Very subtle, this." She pulled out the paper from her pocket and held it up.

He gave her a shrug, "You know my methods."

She quickly took off her coat and scarf, hanging it up beside his before turning back around to face him. He is still sitting on her sofa.

"How long?" She asked him.

"Only tonight. Mycroft needed me in London, surprisingly reckless for him." He replied.

Molly moved closer and he watched her. Before another word could be spoken by either she is curled up against him, his arms around her. He doesn't inquire how hard it has been, knowing all too well that he has asked too much of her. Like always. Instead they stayed like this, quietly in each others arms. Seeking the comfort that neither knew when they would find the chance to have again.

After a time she shifted so that she could bring her mouth up to his. Their kiss was hungry, desperate. She clung to him as if he was her life source. They usually make it to the bed, but not this time.

Their movements are fumbled, awkward. They don't want their lips to part, but they must in order to breathe and remove the barriers of clothing. When they are both at last entirely naked he eased her down onto her back. Her hands moving over him, taking note of the new scars and bruises that he has acquired. She doesn't ask questions.

They both cried out as their bodies become joined. It had been nearly a year for the pair of them. He kisses her deeply, holding her as close to him as possible as he thrusts into her, again and again. Filing away the sensation of her warmth, her tightness, how wet she is for him. He'll need these memories, not knowing how long it will be again before he can experience them for real.

She kissed him, moaning into his mouth as she rolled her hips in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. He panted her name into her skin, as she does with his. She wrapped her legs around his hips, allowing him to enter her more deeply. Their moans grow in volume as he thrusts into her harder. She becomes undone around him, her entire body shaking. He is not far behind.

They hold tightly onto each other, both of them breathing heavily. Her gaze is strong, direct. She too is filing away memories. They kiss again, and again. His hands start to wander, brushing against her breasts, across her abdomen, over the curve of her arse. His mouth soon starts to follow. She lies back against the cushions, as he bites her, suckles her, before ringing from her cries of pleasure.

Just as the sun is setting they make love again, but this time she is on top. His hands are holding onto her arse, his fingertips digging into her skin as his eyes are mesmerized by the movements of her breasts as she rode him. He brushed his thumb across her swollen nub and she cried out, with a final buck of his hips he emptied himself inside of her.

They curl around each other, both entirely too tired to bother moving to the bed, even though it would be more comfortable. Sleep is forcing its away upon her, but she tries her hardest to fight it. She knows that when she wakes, he would be gone. He is kissing her face, murmuring softly to her, words that she can't quite make out. Her eyes have grown too heavy; she can no longer keep it at bay. Placing one final kiss upon her forehead he moved his lips downwards to hover over hers. He whispered softly to her, before giving her a gentle kiss, "Remember Molly, _I did not die._"

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><p>.<p>

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**The poem is one of my favourites and is by Mary Elizabeth Frye.**

**Please leave a review, I love them :)**

**HAPPY HALLOWEEN!**


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